A Voice Someone Calls
by Iseki
Summary: Seven years since the revival of the island: their saviour has moved to pastures new and those that remain tie up loose ends. Chase has married Maya and succeeded the Inn. It's Happily Ever After. Except for the ghost of a farmgirl who can't seem to get back home.
1. Seven Years

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Relevant Harvest Moon boffins don't even know of my existence._

_Warnings: Chase and Maya rival marriage highly prevalent but this is a Chase/Angela story._

_Summary: Seven years have passed since the restoration of Waffle Island. Her saviour has moved on to other pastures, and those left behind tie up the loose ends in their lives. Chase has married Maya and succeeded Sundae Inn. He caters to the mainland and neighbouring islands, making a name for himself. It's the Happily Ever After, and yet some things don't seem to fit. Especially when a ghost of a farmgirl returns and Chase begins to question every decision he's made up until this point. _

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><p><strong>Introduction: Seven Years<strong>

_As all great adventures begin; the moon hung pregnant and waiting in the East. _

_I was asleep, as was my wife, but outside our humble doors the earth was stirring. Something inexplicable and strange was rising to touch the island anew; feather light and without meaning... _

_At least to those that cannot see._

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><p>Maya was like an electric current.<p>

In the mornings when I had no trouble getting up she would already be ahead of me, tucking the bedclothes smooth and brushing away the kinks in her hair. A current in a river is something that had the potential of a swift deadliness until you want only to submit, but electrically charged there was something in it that provoked my stubbornness. Until the pleasant morning routine had become something of a chore.

"Ngh...Chase...just move your...butt!" She gasped, pulling my pillow out from under my head. It thumped back upon the mattress with a force that rattled my teeth but a smile still slipped upon my lips. She huffed again, "I knew you were awake."

Outside the familiar sounds of the island coming to life filtered past lightly billowed curtains. Hens pecked, leaves rustled, the waves lapped at the beaches peaceably, and neighbours greeted at their doors over morning coffee. In the months of late I found it neigh on impossible to walk into town without some measure of bounce creeping into his step; this place was truly an Eden in this way.

With velocity only a fully conscious man could muster, I pulled her back upon the sheets and tousled her hair. "It's Sunday," I breathed, tugging her close. "Don't you think you could be a bit gentler?" I was rewarded with some reluctant glee barely disguised in her voice.

"Yes, it's Sunday. And you're on the clock!" She wriggled free, but not before he caught the scent of strawberries upon her skin. I started when she made an abrupt turn and pouted darkly.

"I think you promised breakfast."

"And here I thought you understood pillow talk."

The stolen bedding slammed back against my nose. She could still stomp a foot affectedly without the help of little-girl shoes. "Just get up will you? You'll miss the boat and then you'll blame me!"

I tried my sweetest smile in apology, stretching like a cat and retrieving a fresh shirt. She left with little more than an exaggerated glare.

This house was too small.

Padding my bare feet along the small alcove to the bathroom was like twisting a whole fish out of a sardine tin intact. I yawned, skirting around extraneous objects that didn't have a place to call home. Anymore than this and I worried that the place might burst at the seams, so I was thankful for the fact that Maya was yet to grow too broody. A third person in here would test the already diminishing fortitude. It was guilty but some part of me longed for those bachelor days when there was no one else between these tidy walls. We would need to buy a bigger one.

I yawned while habitually turning up my sleeves cuffs and pushing the hair out of my face.

In the kitchen my wife was dressed in her pink and apron and pouring meticulously over a steaming mug. When she presented it to me the cream and chocolate powder was arranged to perfection but an acrid smell arrested my senses.

"Your coffee!" she exclaimed proudly, looking every bit as guileless as she had when she was a child. My tension softened.

"Thank you," I took the cup.

She didn't wait to watch me slurp the topping, careful to keep the ripeness of the actual brew far from my taste buds; she glanced at the time and recommenced her fretting. Flustered over a mere five minutes of tardiness, she threw a careless kiss toward my cheek and disappeared out the door. Quiet engulfed the room. Thinking back, I couldn't remember ever noticing it like this, but perhaps I just never took the time. I collected a pile of hair pins from their discarded place on the side table and went to work.

The light outside was fierce, leaving me with the desire for sunglasses. Amongst walking and squinting, pinning those wayward curls away and trying not to drop my case full of paperwork, it was a surprise I didn't skid into town on a loosened sandal. By the time I reached the pier Pascal was already holding the springline and puffing steadily on his pipe. I hailed him and he wordlessly tipped his hat. The display left no room for argument; I was lucky this time.

Upon the good ship Mermaid, the sea air undid the effort on my hair; spray trickled over the sides of the bow and clung to my clothing. It was both the joy and the curse of the sea: a sailor was never tidy even while his quarters were impeccable. On a cruiser it might take little more than two hours to reach the mainland, but a bigger vessel like this took twice the time. I settled into the breeze and allowed my mind to wander.

* * *

><p>It was another long day before the dim lamps of Waffle Town welcomed me home. Thankful for the years of late hours and gruelling labour I wasn't exhausted yet, but lethargy crept into my appearance. Pascal waved me, his lone returning fare, off with a salty grin; no doubt wishing the bar didn't close so early at the end of his work week.<p>

I rubbed at my eyes. Would Maya still be awake for a midnight snack? Or would I still be apologizing tomorrow for the lack of breakfast?

In this opaque light I thought I glimpsed a firefly or two take flight from the reeds, but upon a second glance saw only darkness. The night melted at the edges of the shoreline; cocooning the island in its own idealistic bubble. Another day lost, another endeavour come to a close.

I finally had a kitchen: a grubby great warehouse of a room with outdated equipment and enough pantry space to supply an army. With this our expanding catering business would finally take shape. Over the past two years as the island attracted new visitors I had taken extensive orders for parties and events through the inn. Yolanda was retired and formally satisfied to hand over her mantle. Jake and Coleen were more than happy to allow me the extra freedom and Maya stood loyally at my side. I had always been more interested in the preparation side of things than running a business but before I could reflect on what was happening I was already testing my bookkeeping abilities and thriving in a world I hardly understood. It was as thrilling as it was on the rare occasion mind-numbing. But if I was anything I was proud, and admitting defeat was not yet an option.

There was that same secret voice: was this what I wanted? Was this the end-all for me? I quashed the anxiety as I had before. If anything it was probably born from my age old inability to accept responsibility. But I had grown up now.

Another flicker of light stole my eye. Eager to catch it this time I leapt a step closer without warning. A shriek, a shove, the darkness filled my eyeballs; instantly I had collided with something warm and soft. We tumbled through the reed together in a tussle of limbs and ungainly sounds.

At the bottom I lost my breath, a heavy weight upon my chest and two clawed hands tight around my forearms. I was ready to fling the culprit wide and smash my remaining shoe into his face but something stopped me. Familiarity: the scent of freshly tilled soil, a tickle of hair upon my cheek, that softness in its grip that rang all kinds of distant alarm bells.

"Chase?" the offending person panted. That voice. My vision was no clearer.

"...Angela?" I tried, finding little confidence in my own tone. She leapt off of me like a thing stung.

Suddenly the lights were all around us; unquestionably fireflies this time. The blinked like little signal beams from the underworld as they rose to the sky. I had never seen so many, nor had they been as much earlier when they avoided my vigilant gaze. They exploded together in tiny streams of light, all but eradicating the obscurity of the night.

It had been seven years since I last saw Angela. Seven years since she'd moved on. When she'd arrived a few months before I could return the island was little more than a dusty and barren rock, a mere shadow of the former paradise it had been a generation before ours. The older residents could see both the obvious and abstract fluctuations and yet they'd expected nothing from the young female farmer from the mainland. She was sweet yet insubstantial as a fawn; why should they? And yet it had been she to blend in so faultlessly. To become an island daughter like none before. To provide the necessary love and care for the land enough even to revive it; to save them all. Seven years had passed and there wasn't a soul who lived here who doubted her hand in the miracle.

Her features became vividly discernible. Everything was exactly as I had remembered, right down to the thin smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Seven years had passed and she had hardly aged a day.

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><p><em>AN: I thought I might be alright, but as **Dissedi** has taught me I'm not ready to move on from these characters, so here I am again._

_I wanted to keep with the genre of Supernatural because it's that unique side to these loveable farming games that I've enjoyed exploiting in the past. So to those of you returning... Thank you, I hope I can promise some more of a similar mystery, to those of you reading me for the first time: it's a pleasure to meet you, please enjoy._

_This is a fairly short introduction but I didn't want to frighten anyone away with an overabundance of Maya moments, or drag out the initial meeting with Angela until it became unnatural. Don't worry, there's a lot more to it than just this…_

_Thank you for reading, please review and come back for the next instalment… I wouldn't bother writing so much if it weren't for your wonderful people. _


	2. Getting Older

**Chapter Two: Getting Older**

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><p>The Inn was eerily silent.<p>

The noise of my keys jangling together inside my pocket echoed hollowly; almost a guilty sound. I cleared my throat to disguise the discomfort. One small lamp lit at a table in the corner and Angela was seated, looking no less immortalized in ambiguity than she had amongst the greenish glow of the fireflies.

I dawdled in the kitchen, reclaiming some amount of poise to heat some cocoa with the least amount of clatter. It was a quiet week but upstairs an assortment of guests slept and dreamed soundlessly, and I didn't want to disturb them. I passed the warm mug to Angela and watched her lily-white fingers wrap about the ceramic as she seemed to sigh.

"So," I began. Being the first to pluck up the courage to speak inside these muted walls provided me some relief. "You can relax now. Stay here for the night."

Her eyes darted about my face like she had some valiant argument, but in the end she dipped her head to the chocolate and drank. Afterwards some liveliness had returned to her expression; something I was more content to remember.

"You haven't changed," she offered quietly. A smile twitched at the corner of my lips.

"You're looking at the cook and captain of this fine establishment actually."

She was unfailingly impressed; wide eyes sparkling, "No way."

"Well, there's still a little paperwork to go... but I've been overseeing the lot for a couple of months now."

"Is Jake okay?" she whispered knowingly, until the grin I was trying to hide was seduced from me.

"What are you implying?"

As the hush descended between our silences my questions for her span wildly, but I restrained myself anew; I knew her, and she was in no state to give me the eloquent answers I desired. And whether I agreed with it or not seven years could make once-friends into strangers. Angela might not tell me anything despite my attempts at rescue.

There was always time tomorrow for the necessary small talk.

"Come on, I'll show you your room."

A quick reminder from the guestbook left me without worries: no one out of the ordinary, and mostly travellers. Angela wouldn't stand out, nor would she be hounded at any point in the early morning for her life story. I would fill Maya in on the details and we could house her until she was comfortable.

With only one dimly lit lamp it shouldn't have surprised me that she slipped on the lacquered steps. It was a base reaction to loop one arm about her waist to steady her and before either of us could make a sound she was breathing heavily and tight against my side. Another time and another instance I might've shouted, let go, and made a condescending remark about her habits, but today had been strange from the start; my heart hammered and my mind reeled. I soothed myself that no damage was done and pushed her ahead.

"Careful..."

The empty room was like the others, sliding doors, tatami squares, and modest furniture burnished with a dark wood stain. The accents of orange and red were lost to the darkness but it wasn't foreboding in any way. The inn was old, but there had never been any cost spared at keeping it exquisite. I couldn't tell whether Angela took in any of these familiar details or not. She stepped in and instantly fell upon the bed.

"Towels here, baths around the corner," I motioned briefly, "I'll be back for breakfast."

"Do you still live by the lake?"

"Of course," I grumbled under my breath. The idea of leaving my cottage still didn't sit right.

She paused. "Thank you Chase."

Among the residents that knew her there were those that would explain her success without reluctance. It was the sort of information I dismissed much the same as that of astrology; I just didn't believe in it. The science was flawed if there was any, and the interference of faerie and goddess was something too whimsical to swallow without a great amount of contest. Even after the girl seemingly materialized out of nowhere and roused a fanfare of significant beetles I was sceptical to accept any of it.

But here lying on a bed I knew thread for thread she seemed ephemeral; no sign of the telltale farmer's tan or calluses on her fingertips, and her eyes were so very sunken. Even if I didn't believe I wondered desperately what had happened to her, and hoped more sincerely than I would admit that she might confide in me.

"Get some rest," I ordered, but she was already asleep.

* * *

><p>Once again, I was rudely awoken by a pillow to my nose. This time there'd been no shadow of a doubt that I was asleep, and immovable, I would remain that way until my body clock caught up with itself.<p>

I groaned.

"Up and at 'em, lazy bones! I'll forgive you for breakfast, but if you don't get dressed in five minutes you'll have a handful of people that won't be as understanding."

The attraction of pulling the covers over my head was almost too tempting to ignore. From the corner of one bleary eye I could make out the time at barely three hours since I'd finally reached my bed. Apparently Maya was none the wiser to my excessively late return. It marked the least amount of sleep I'd had in a decade and it made me feel old.

"up, up, up, up!" Maya stripped the quilt from me; the morning air immediately chilling my over-warm skin.

Without coffee (even the Maya Special Brew) I struggled to match her stride as she scurried with my hand tight in hers. My mind was far from berating her overabundance of energy though; I already stuck amongst the pots and pans. A man's mind was a precise cutting edge, but today it was comparable to little more than a soggy dishrag.

"Helloo," A wave tore through my convenient cooking puns.

"Hm?"

She sighed, "I said: It's already unlocked."

Once I'd caught her gaze I noticed the grim seriousness in her expression. It was out of place amongst the sky blue of her eyes, the gentle flush of her cheeks, and the inherent rosiness of her slim lips.

Suddenly I was completely awake.

"I unlocked it last night." I answered, sounding a bit dazed.

"Why?" she quirked her head like a little bird, the seriousness dissolving instantly once she snapped her fingers. "Is it a surprise?"

Looking up at the big looming walls, my laugh was surprisingly void of any irony. "Sure is."

Maya's routine kept her out of my hair for a good hour. Like a humming bird she was a consistent buzz of activity and poorly executed pop songs. Similarly, in the kitchen, I baked my pre-made rolls and crafted a traditional breakfast buffet. It was this perfect synchronicity that had allowed us to succeed the Inn so lucratively. We were surprisingly like-minded. Maya had completely negated her parents and even my own reservations with unexpected and sophisticated self-assurance. With just that single person willing to stand at my side regardless of what might be thrown at her there was suddenly a world of opportunity and achievement open at my feet.

But as I knead and cut, and whisked and glazed, this was not the appreciation forefront on my mind. I was working nervously, wondering how I would approach Angela, and growing increasingly grateful for every minute of solitude the routine continued to allow.

After another moment I considered waking her; the idea that this action might be overly familiar was brushed away the same as the flour that decorated my sleeves. In my purpose I turned on my heel and nearly collided with the very person. The yelp of my surprise was clumsy and undignified, and I clamped a hand over my mouth. She laughed unabashedly.

"Jumpy aren't you?"

Angela stood pleasantly close, her arms crossed behind her back and her slim physique prominent.

"It's not often I'm snuck up on in my own kitchen," I calmed myself by smoothing my apron. Angela didn't seem convinced.

"Did you forget about me?"

It was a startling question; caught somewhere between playful and sincere. Whereas, as a rule, I would bounce back with some thinly veiled observation I was forestalled. Somewhere hidden behind her naturally cheerful countenance she honestly wanted to know if these years had passed and my memories had gone along with them. I sidestepped it without a second thought.

"Of course not, I was just coming to check on you."

She hardly blinked. On tiptoes she raised herself to see over my shoulder and inspect my work, her smile unfurling like butterfly's wings. "I'm actually really hungry now. Weird."

The feeling that replaced my expected gratitude that she hadn't pressed the question was all wrong.

'_Weir_d,' she had said.

"Sit and wait like everyone else. And while you're at it, maybe you could fill me in on one or two of the details relating to your suspicious midnight stopover."

I turned back to my stove, flipping omelette, but not before I caught the blush that rose to her cheeks.

"It's not suspicious!" She dropped onto a bar stool heavily, her elbows clacking on the countertop. "It was just...impromptu."

"A fancy word for suspiciously unplanned," I deadpanned, "Why now?"

It hardly passed for a conversation, but already it seemed that time had done nothing to change our behaviour. Remembering jut how it used to easily unfold into a battle of wit and how, exhausted, she would quickly change the subject elicited another lopsided sort of smirk from me.

She snorted, surprisingly closer to breaking point than memory served. "I've never been here so early before, it's really relaxed. But I can see the new landlord hasn't bothered to redecorate."

"It's a little thing called tradition." I served her up a special portion of the assorted foods. "Some people respect it."

Angela grinned again. It was an intensely bright smile and it caught me off guard. In that smile I felt like she was amused for the same reasons I had been, that she was pleased in redirecting my attention, but more than that she seemed to see through each of my actions. Like a book well read, she knew all of my secrets.

"Thanks for the food!" she clapped her hands together once before digging her fork in deeply.

I wasn't about to let her loose with so little explanation, but the happy fact that I could still bind her with food satisfied me for now. While she was under my roof she'd have to come clean. Upstairs the guests were rising, and in the back room I heard Maya approaching clumsily with an armload of fresh linen. Unbidden and panicky, I was suddenly pierced with shame that I hadn't explained the situation to her yet. I rushed out to help.

"Phew!" she puffed an upward breath that scattered her messy fringe out of her eyes. "Thank you."

From the stairwell a dishevelled Selena appeared with a blanket still wrapped about her shoulders and yawning like a cat. She was shortly followed by smattering of others I couldn't name and Jin's distant cousin, also a physician. Not one to waste a moment, Maya hastily retrieved the bedding from me and made a hustle for the stairs.

I caught her arm. "I'll do that, you go and say hello."

From her seat Angela pricked expectantly, brushing stray rice from her cheek.

"Don't be silly, you're working too," she whacked my shoulder playfully.

"Go and catch up with our surprise guest," I clarified, towing her close again by the wrist. Angela appeared to be growing increasingly awkward at the bar; fidgeting with her shirt sleeve and eyes darting as though she wasn't sure to carry on waiting in anticipation or continue shovelling down her food while it was warm. I turned my wife with some subtlety, and Angela prepared a smile.

The amusement had drained from Maya's face.

"Chase, I think this is another one of your jokes that I don't get and we're busy. Come on," she pleaded. That lit a spark.

"Look I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but there just wasn't a good chance. If this is about breakfast again I will cook you a banquet come Sunday."

"What? But I-"

"I ran into her last night. Seems that after so long she actually managed to get lost here." I fixed one of my most charming smiles and forced a light chuckle hoping this would distract Maya from being hurt; my patience was thinning but I wasn't about to embarrass us by creating a scene.

Casting my mind back, I couldn't find any reason that Maya would begrudge Angela room and board. No special moments of disregard for each other, no hasty insults; if anything they'd always seemed to get along quite famously. Kathy and Selena included them both in their evening rendezvous for a cheeky cocktail, and they would gladly haul each other home long after lock-down when one or the other could no longer walk. Had there been something I couldn't know? Something that might have even driven Angela away? I immediately dismissed the idea. Maya showed no shadow of guilt any more than the evident distress that I was keeping her from her duties.

The rest of the occupants had filtered into the room and began their carefree morning routines; pleasant small talk punctuated by the squeak of fork on porcelain. The increased buzz of activity made me all the more eager to return to the kitchen.

"Sorry Angela," I called over my shoulder, hoping I could leave it to her from here.

"W-who?" Maya squawked.

"Angela," I heaved a sigh, replying coolly. Even after three years of marriage I didn't realize she might be this chronically forgetful. Was I meant to worry over some accidental head trauma?

"But Chase!" She cried, catching my attention again as I was turning away. Her hands covered her mouth as if she'd surprised even herself by the volume. After a moment she let them drop.

"There's no one else here but us."

* * *

><p>A smirk, a snort, everything sounding very distant; like a drop in the sea, "Of course," I said.<p>

Maya looked more perplexed than anything, lips pursing in question. I steered casually back toward the kitchen and saw the bar, deserted, a plate of breakfast hardly even rearranged with the fork placed neatly at its side. Somehow I wasn't surprised; the taste of bitterness was familiar to me. In one fluid movement I captured two eggs and broke them across the skillet. The immediate hiss and smell of cooking placated me, until I was easily engrossed. The clock moved outside of my peripherals.

"Yeah."

"And table three."

"Yeah."

"And the barrels."

"Yeah."

A bang, "Chase, you've been wiping that glass for an hour now. Are you listening to me at all?" Kathy, who had finally had enough of my transparent mood, had slapped her cleaning rag down on the counter next to me. Her mouth was pinched in disapproving but her eyes wore undisguised concern.

"Not really." I replied in honestly, a fresh-faced smile slipping across my lips. She leaned into her hip and put a hand to her seductively bared waist.

"I figured as much," she sighed. "Take a break." Behind her Hayden's eyes glinted watchfully. Hayden and I had a perfectly amicable working relationship. At the inn we could make convenient small talk, offer a hand when things got busy, and even crack a joke, but outside of that I understood that he didn't entirely trust me. He was of island-born ilk, and I lied with my smiles. That marked me an outsider.

"Alright," I surrendered, relinquishing my towel and mug as though they'd been dangerous weapons in my hands. I passed Maya silently and she let me go.

Through the backdoor behind the inn, the stars glittered murkily behind quick moving cloud cover. It would have been the perfect atmosphere for a reflective cigarette if only I smoked, but the evidence of a gradual effect on the taste buds was compelling enough even as a child. But it didn't stop be from becoming curious as a smoker's expression relaxed after a long drag. Instead I settled with emptying my lungs and sucking in a great breath of summer humidity.

Was I bothered? I guessed my actions probably spoke for themselves. After being so forceful with Maya, getting left in the lurch did not sit well. Now I would have to somehow muster an apology. Still, what bothered me more wasn't Angela running off in the midst of introduction, but rather the way the introduction had played out. Something was off.

"So here's where I find you." The tall grasses whispered around her ankles. I didn't look up, instead feeling resentment well in the pit of my stomach.

"Back for another free meal?"

"I guess I deserved that." She winced.

"What the hell, Angela?" I turned my face enough to catch her eyes. "It's not like you have any reason to feel guilty."

"No," she agreed while smiling sadly. Her arms wrapped around herself until she seemed to wane. "But haven't you figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out exactly," I returned evenly, but a tendril of fear had snaked inside my chest and caused my heart to skip.

"I couldn't meet Maya because

_I'm not really here."_

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><p><em>AN: I feel like...not a lot happened here. I can't tell you how difficult the second chapter has been and how much I didn't expect it to be when I first planned this fic. It still seems to squeak here and there, but a lot of it is simply the lead up to better things._

_Thanks to everyone who put this on alert after the first chapter! Let me know what you think._

_And SPECIAL THANKS to Rexy aka R/X on the Ushi no Tane forums who gave me some wonderfully constructive criticism on the first chapter that's helped me edit this one. I really enjoy writing these things but there's always, always room for improvement, and the talented Rexy doesn't hold back where you need it! If I'm lucky, she's reading this now (and noticing all of my habitual mistakes XD)_

_Chapter three will be a much quicker instalment now that the way is paved. I hope you'll return for it!_


	3. Welcome Back

_**WARNING:** In this chapter Chase faints like a girl._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Welcome Back<strong>

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><p>"Hah. What is this...? You expect me to believe that?"<p>

Angela didn't reply.

"I'm looking right at you."

"I know," she supplied lamely. "but any more than that would have proved it..."

"So prove it then." I challenged quietly.

"And make you look insane to the people you love? I'd rather you didn't believe me."

I paused but only for a second. How unexpected. "Well thanks for being such a saint."

Angela stopped short. The green she wore, the green I'd become so accustomed to before she'd gone, made her skin look as white as alabaster. Rather than show her dismay she became steely, looked taller; she was on the defence.

"What are you so angry about?"

Swallowing my rebuttal I let her hang. A shaft of moonlight was there and then gone again. Her display frustrated me and I wasn't going to be the one to admit that it was because I saw myself pulling the same strings. We could have been there for hours. Screen door squeaking noisily behind me, I turned with finality.

"Nothing, forget it."

I submit to exasperation if only to soothe my temper that continued to flare. This coward's lie sounded too much like the idiocy she'd spouted before abandoning ship the last time. Unreal, fantastical: impossible. Maya deserved an apology.

I found her mopping listlessly in one corner, the rest of the floor was bone dry.

"I'm tired," I announced, rubbing the back of my neck with a hand while heading toward the bar. "Nearly time to close up." Hayden had already gone, and Kathy was wiping her hands clean.

"I'll never get used to his," she vowed, still prickly over Maya's obvious misery. I smiled brightly and feigned ignorance. Her honesty had always impressed me, but I wasn't about to let it show.

"Just don't slack off."

When we were alone Maya ignored my steps closer until finally I repossessed the mop. Her shoulders were slumped and round and without seeing her face I knew she be wearing that expression she'd never learned to restrain. Like a puppy that had just been reprimanded.

"Come on, time to go home." I sighed, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away, still hidden, and in the second that it took to shape a charming trap for her I was interrupted when her small weight hit my chest. Her fingers locked behind my back and her forehead nuzzled snugly under my collarbone.

"Are you going to explain it to me?"

Angela's figure flashed in my mind. She was alone, formless, but still proud. "Probably not." I admitted, honesty eluding me once again, but at her insistent squeeze I added reluctantly "but I can try."

In marriage we make small sacrifices for the happiness of the other, even just for a smile, but nagging in the back of my head was the insistence that it was needless. It was only a small island: Maya would meet Angela soon enough and then it was her problem.

"Come on," I extricated myself from her arms. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Midnight snack was caramelised apples and meringue. Maya was curled around a cushion on the nearby sofa and I had the fruit cut into triangles before the butter had hardly begun to melt. The flaws of my first and only kitchen were safe and familiar; no one to judge me on the standards of my performance (however faultless it was) or the effect of my spices. Without any measure of pressure my movements were carefree and easy.<p>

My meringue nests were delicately coiled as the mixture was squeezed through a worn piping bag and were nearly finished their ultimate cooling in the double-oven. The apples sizzled and spat until I doused them in lemon zest and sugar. There was little ventilation to carry the heat and smells away, but that seemed to suit us fine. I sautéed and sweat and Maya sighed dreamily and waited.

When the apples had thickened in their sauce I poured it over the meringue in a bowl. The warmth of it lit the ceramic in my hands and the nests crackled. There was very little in terms of professional presentation but that was part of why I enjoyed cooking so much; no matter the vision at the end, a part of yourself was always reflected in the taste. Maya squealed as I passed her a serving. My own bowl held far less, but a taste was all I needed.

Peace and the clink of spoons reigned. The TV with its assortment of five crappy channels, two of which came in terribly from across the mainland, remained off; a blank face reflecting our cosy little world back at us. After finishing Maya caressed her belly and the cushions supported her contented curl.

"I still prefer oranges."

"Mm." She acknowledged my voice, her eyelids drooping. The empty bowl in her hands became loose as her breathing eased.

Snacking and sleeping like this; her metabolism was a miraculous thing. I might have envied her if I wasn't simply grateful to have someone to feed without worry. That isn't too say she was perfectly slim however. Softness around her cheeks and waist had developed since our wedding; a small increase she liked to refer to as her 'happiness weight.'

I brushed aside the hair that obscured her face and pried away the dish. It was easy to feel guilty avoiding conversation this way, but when it came to Maya there was no better apology than a warm meal. Offering food instead of feelings was an uncomplicated way of showing my care.

"Sorry for making you worry."

As late as it was, and as sleep deprived, I felt wide awake; another little break from routine. Rather than lie up in bed I took our bowls to the sink and ran the water. The lake beyond my window glittered darkly, mesmerizing me. The rainy season had been fierce this year and the water washed high upon the dock. The fishermen had been happy but the farmers had not. A lot of bad crop and sparse shipments meant that the whole island had to tighten their belts until more fruitful times. It was a delicate ecosystem of chance as well as trust.

A dish clattered from my hand onto the draining board carelessly. High on the dock a white figure caused my blood to run cold.

Without a second thought I cursed under my breath and jammed my sandals on.

_Idiot Girl. _I ran. _What is she thinking?_ The figure rippled and waned. A voice that wasn't quite my own told me to slow down, this was exactly the reaction she'd played me for, but still my feet didn't stop.

"Angela!"

When I finally stepped foot on the shore she'd turned toward me and the expression on her face was poker-straight.

"Chase?" Elicited a voice in reply, but it wasn't hers. The tone was low and masculine. From the distant lamps a head of silvery blond hair caught light. Toby approached me with bleary eyes and the low crossing collar of his bedclothes exposing the better part of his chest. "I thought I heard a noise. What are you doing out here this late?"

Across from me Angela had not moved. Her hand was curled and full of small stones.

"I... uh," I glanced from him to her, his features maintaining the same quizzical air.

And so it hit me: this was her proof. Without another thought I stood next to her, throwing a casual glance over my shoulder and forming that same easy smile that I knew to fool most.

"Just catching up on some fishing."

Toby's forehead wrinkled; it wasn't something many people could say they'd ever seen. It was charming even in the dark to witness his chaste concern. "It's late," he scratched his chin thoughtfully, as though nervous he was about to say too much, "and it's quite dangerous. Does Maya know you are out here?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "I'm with my teacher."

With that Toby's interest was piqued. I'd half expected him to laugh outright. I certainly was no fisherman, and Angela from what I could remember had trouble catching clams. The minute stretched and lost shape. Everything about this instance squeaked on rusty hinges. Angela was still and I could have sworn her drawn lips showed the slightest trace of blue.

Finally Toby spoke. "A good teacher should know there isn't a lot biting at this time of night." He crossed his robe tighter as though marking his conclusion, and bowed. "You tell them that."

When his back was turned I sighed moodily. Inconclusive; I felt like a child for ever believing that there was going to be some great moment of revelation. We didn't even have fishing rods. It was one thing to sense the atmosphere and it was another thing entirely to be swept up in it without cause. I reached for her hand and found only empty air.

"Chase!" she called, past the dock, fast approaching Toby's retreating form- without thinking I shouted for her to wait.

"What?"

The world span. On uneven legs I pitched forward without warning. They called for me- both of them, rushing to my side. One well muscled arm dipped behind my waist and held me steady, while two other snow-white hands cupped across my cheekbones. They lifted my face to meet her eyes.

They were perfectly warm, perfectly solid, those hands.

The space around my brain contracted.

Her clear honey brown eyes showed vivid concern; apologetic and soft like rabbit's fur.

"Easy, easy..." Toby chanted.

"You really can't see her?" I asked, dazed. My voice felt a million miles away.

Of course I hardly needed to ask. He seemed unchanged to the Toby I had inadvertently called to wait a moment ago. When rushing to meet him Angela had gone careening into his chest mid-turn. The expression of apprehension had not wavered even as the girl he should have collided with in a rattle of teeth and bone passed through him like moonlight through the trees.

And yet she was here. Bent over me the same as Toby was, appearing to fight for the elbow space, pulling my face toward her in fervour to preserve my consciousness.

"Who?" He enquired gently, the faint echo dissipating like mist over water.

I clenched my hand around hers in a final show of strength, the distant song of the ocean drawing me into darkness.

Perfectly solid.

* * *

><p>When my mother had been alive I remembered a cool touch to my forehead, possibly too cold. If I had fever she could press it away with such soft cool hands. Ironically my immunity had been faultless since she left me, but that touch remained.<p>

In the morning I was back in my bed, awake to the sensation that I was far too warm for the opening season of spring. The alarm was reset and situated far left on top of the bookcase; specifically the place furthest from my reach. My mouth was as dry as ash and the muscles in my shoulders ached fiercely. In the paltry attempt to categorize of my symptoms and the whereabouts of my limbs the desire for French toast rose unnecessarily and immovably in my throat.

"Maya?"

I held my breath for a second hoping she wouldn't answer. This might be my first sick-day since my employment at the Sundae Inn and if it kept the other half of the proprietary at home I'm wasn't sure how I'd forgive myself let alone come clean for when Jake and I next went over the books. The empty silence from the single floored cottage was answer enough. I placed my too-hot feet on the delightfully cold floorboards and willed my disobedient body to work.

So. It was fever. That explained a lot.

Without a second thought I was cracking eggs at the stove and dabbing thick slices of yesterday's bread loaf in them. They hit the pan with a resounding splat.

"About time, I'm famished."

To say that I hit the roof would not have been a great exaggeration.

Angela who could apparently slink up behind a man with all the grace of a huntress was next to my shoulder dipping another slice of crust bread into the egg-mix. In my surprise I had knocked the frying pan off the heating element and I quickly jumped back to correct it.

"What- In God's name- Are you doing here?"

Angela, with an expression I could punch had it not been so sweetly feminine, simply grinned. "Don't you remember?"

"I'm sick." I deadpanned. "Get out of my house."

"I was only worried about you." She pouted, again sickly-sweet and obviously false; I sincerely hoped she wasn't mocking me.

"Well, it's hardly a wild assumption that you brought the only foreign germs successful of attacking my typically healthy constitution, so I would say you've done enough thank you."

"Me-ow," she clawed the air. She fished a now cooked piece of toast out of the pan with her bare hands and smothered it with syrup. She flopped upon the sofa in such a carefree manner any witness might wonder who the true homeowner was. "But seriously, I'm pretty relieved. You're fine, I'm not fine, you know now, and you can fix it!"

"I can—I'm sorry?" I offered incredulously, burning the second slice.

"Well...you saw right? I mean... you fainted. It was admittedly a bit uncool for you, but I can sort of understand. Especially if you really are sick." She sniggered lightly, happy to leave me outside of her joke.

"Can we start back at the beginning please? Why are you here?" the burnt toast went into the bin and two more replaced it.

"B-because..." she stammered, suddenly shy.

"Mm-hmm."

"You're really going to make me say it?"

"Defeats the point of conversation otherwise."

She took a long languorous moment to devour her breakfast whole and suck each finger clean, but she showed enough shame to jump in her seat when I clattered my cooking utensils into the sink. She watched her toes wiggling in her socks with something akin to bashfulness, the likes of which was not unusual but definitely hadn't been present since we'd reunited. It carried a sense of earnestness.

"You're..." she gave me a hopeful glance filled with awkwardness and worry, "the only one who can see me."

I laughed.

"You mean last night." I received a slow nod. "But last night wasn't real."

"We're really back to that?"

"Well yes, you're in my house without my permission and you're clearly insane. I have a temperature over 100 degrees and that generally shortens a person's patience."

Angela rose swiftly from the couch and pressed her palm to my forehead; I stiffened expecting ice but was instead met with warmth. "You're fine," she sighed, moving away. I followed her actions, performing the same test with my own hand and arriving at no further conclusion; she was right, I was feeling much more myself again.

"So, you can move through people and no one else can hear you. You're dead." I concluded with another laugh, cynicism laid bare, "You're a ghost and you choose to haunt me?"

Her eyes were flat with morose seriousness, "Please don't joke, Chase."

"What? You sleep in my inn, you eat my food, you move, talk, and _feel_ exactly like I remember but you're telling me you're not here? That you're a figment of my imagination? But I don't have a fever? Come over to my side for a second and tell me that doesn't sound a little bit crazy."

What happened with Maya was explainable but Toby? Where was he in all this? The events still didn't make sense.

"It does!" she cried out but recovered composure quickly. "But how about you come over to _my_ side..." her fingers graced her breastbone with the faintest contact.

"I'm me. I don't know why I'm here and I'm alone, but the Chase whom I've known and trusted can help me."

At that it was impossible to maintain my guards. One by one they fell away like overripe petals revealing fruit; soft, yielding, defenceless fruit. I raked my fingers into my hair, pulling it high and away from my eyes.

Maddened by the absurdity, disbelief at myself rose and fell with heavy surrender as my next move already appeared to be decided.

"Fine," I said.

"What can I do?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: reviewing seems a lost art these days, and I find it a little sad. While is a network to collect and alert you to your favourite stories, it is also a place to share thoughts and constructive criticisms about the writing. I myself am not the type to review every single update, mostly because I have an obsessive personality and I don't like waiting so I will normally choose to read something that has been completed over something that is updated monthly, but I pride myself in leaving a thoughtful and often lengthy review at the end or whenever a piece of writing has moved me. I enjoy passing my enjoyment to the author and I hope they enjoy hearing about it._

_I'm not one to be discouraged as a lot of what hits paper is for my own self-satisfaction: I often find myself trying to write something that I feel fills a gap not often explored in the fandom, something I would like to read. But these things do take time and deliberation and as a sad reality there are authors who will base the value of their work on the number of reviews received rather than the quality of one._

_Perhaps it is due to more people using mobile technology to read, finding it too bothersome to review, and forgetting. I don't wish to point any fingers merely to urge those of you who have read this far to continue using the services here to their full potential. The authors and the readers feed off each other in like, it's a beautiful ecosystem of give and take and we should be proud to contribute even in small measures :)_

_That **small** tirade aside, this story might actually drag quite a lot, or is that just me? I guess I'm trying to cover the reveals as best I can but since the summary said as much I feel I'm wasting time somehow... I hope it will come together nicely and with effect or I might be wasting time in general! Ah, but breaking Chase down is a favourite of mine._


	4. Empty House

_**Chapter Four: Empty House**_

* * *

><p>Slips of sunlight leaked into the kitchen in wide splashes of hazy gold. My bare feet slapped against warm tiles and the dishwater still left in the sink was practically warm again. I perfect Sunday tradition there wasn't a sound, outside the island lingered between dreams, wrapped up cosily under the morning dew.<p>

I drained the sink wordlessly, ignoring the stir from the lump under a quilted throw on the sofa. I filled the metallic stove-top kettle and opened the fridge for a short stock take. Plenty of greens, egg, milk, and cheese. Still fresh. I rolled my sleeves.

Hot water whistled, my frying pan clacked pleasantly on to the range and I folded egg over leftover deli-ham.

Content in my element I thought of the well-established Shakespearean saying: '_the world is mine oyster_.' I wasn't much for Old English or mussels but if they had the world then I had this room. A multitude of taste was at my fingertips, prepared by my experienced hand and a variety of my stubbornly obtained quality cookware. I knew where to reach, what to grab, how to enhance or perfect a dish with every ingredient and tool within my means. The idea of our branch out on the mainland consumed me as a thrill; to replicate this feeling on a larger scale... to tempt a customer base equipped solely with my own recipes and talent... the omelette performed a perfect turning arc through the air.

"Can't you do that a little more quietly...?"

I caught it on a plate with ease.

"It's you, the figment of my imagination, who needs to keep quiet. Even whispering I still feel ridiculous."

"There's a simple solution for that," Angela shot back, now fully emerged from her cocoon of blankets and trying ineffectually to comb her hair with her fingers. She settled on a smile. "Just accept that I'm real."

I served half of the omelette to her, arranging a second plate for Maya.

"Now that raises some different issues." I finished; successfully ending the conversation. I took the tray of omelette, toast, and tea in hand and walked it to the bedroom. My ghost could wait.

Maya was stretching; her hair curled wildly where it was tucked behind her ears. "Ooh, eggs!" she approved, settling against a propped pillow and flattening her lap. I set the tray there and pressed a swift kiss to her forehead.

"I'm going out."

"But it's only eight-firty," she managed around a mouthful of buttery toast.

"Early bird catches the worm and all that." I shrugged, smiling easily at her as though she were a child.

"I'll miss you,"

I laughed, not really knowing why, "I won't be long."

Angela was scraping up the last of her breakfast and chewing without really appearing to taste it when I returned freshly dressed. She glanced at my bare toes and back up again without any sense of shame and I nodded towards her boots. In a hurry she dropped her fork and rushed to pull them on, stumbling after me out the door. Why should I worry when she made a ruckus? After all it was only me that could hear her.

"I didn't even get to brush my teeth!" she complained.

"Do you need to?" I asked quite honestly, almost curious.

She was breathing into her hand and wrinkling her nose, "I feel like I need to. Especially as someone was a little heavy-handed with the pepper."

I shot her a dark look, grasping quickly for a comeback and winding up empty-handed. Without the necessary nutrients from breakfast in my brain cells it seemed I was going to be a bit slow on the uptake. An anxiety I never knew I possessed reassured me: better this than a suspicious third plate.

"Bed head," I pointed, distracting us both, and she nearly tripped while trying to smooth it.

Later Angela asked softly, "Where are we going?"

The walk past my neighbours had been pleasant. A little crisp, but as a change from the sweltering heat of fever I was grateful.

I hadn't expected to hear more timidity in her voice after her ferocity the day before but it served to demonstrate that the question required no answer. There wasn't much else this far out-of-town.

But filling the peaceful tranquillity of our walk with her questions seemed to absolve her nervousness.

"So why here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mentally I kicked myself for speaking so antagonistically. I would need to utilize a little more restraint if I was going to get her onside and therefore be rid of her. I glossed over my blunder with a sweep of my hand, directing her gaze across the open fields.

As far as plantations went it wasn't much to speak of. Since her departure the fields had gone back into the possesion of Town Hall but without the success of another rancher or family to take up residence the grounds had been divided into smaller plots and offered up to the townspeople as allotments. Most residents were not eager for more property, and the allotments saw little but varied use. It seemed that even with the stimulus in increased population there still weren't enough willing hands to make use of so much previously infertile land.

Further back, nearer to the sprawling black spires of pine trees and mountain rock the single-story cabin stood vigilant. The building remained humble, having never been developed with extensions or a second level. It was not yet overlooked by the garden allotments of disused pastures but rather kept tidy. The lawns were trim, the windows clean, and the paint not yet cracked.

Angela appeared impressed if not a little touched by the new lattice-work, the vibrant plants and colours that grew in patches, but her sentiments were diverted once her eyes fell upon the old house- _her_ old house.

"Who lives here..?" she said; another question. I had to sigh.

When we reached the cabin I was unsurprised to find it unlocked. I entered first and Angela cautiously took up the rear. I flicked the light switch, wondering just how much of the yearly budget the new Mayor was allowing to compromise here, but nothing happened. The room remained dim until I shoved the curtains back with little delicacy. Angela flinched as though we hadn't just previously been out in the bright sunlight.

For all her timidity and ferocity that I knew in equal measures and under different circumstances a new emotion settled over her. She became cloaked in awe.

The cabin was exactly as she'd left it. Her hands fell on oak table top, fluttered over stone counters, touched the sun-stained plastic of the old touch-tone telephone that rested silently on a skinny-legged bureau that was good for little else. It was practically antiquated. Finally her gaze rested on the calendar still showing a spring month seven years ago. Her light somewhat erratic handwriting reaching a block half-way down, citing numbers and evaluations that lost my interest, and then never again.

It wasn't my first time here since she'd gone but it had been a long time since the last. I cast a glance over the objects that filled the room as I waited for her to speak and found myself thoughtful. Any girl with half a conscientious mind wouldn't have left so much well-crafted and altogether valuable fixtures behind, but while Angela may have been the island's key player in a renaissance she had never been that prudent. There'd been days when she'd shown up at the bar, exhausted and expiring, gone a day or two without food thanks to overspending on seed, and one of us would take pity. If it didn't produce milk or sprout green out of the ground then she didn't have it in her to waste concern.

"This is all mine," she said plainly after a time.

"Yeah," I offered, already knowing as much. My memory wasn't quite so flawed. "It seems that you had a certain effect on the people here."

She turned round brown eyes on me that looked more like they belonged on a wild animal than on her pale face. I felt a knot tie itself in my stomach even as my speech continued on regardless.

"They advertised it as a rental for a while, but the effort was pretty meek. Before long it was just closed up like this and no longer on offer. The pasture made into plot-land."

"But why?"

"A lot of people stand by the idea that you saved us, the island— the goddess." I paused to swallow down any reluctance that might have crept into the word. I didn't believe it myself but there was no reason to taint the facts with my personal opinion.

Angela's mouth became a tight line. Her cheeks were puffy and pink. I might have smiled for the increased likeness to that wild animal I could almost put a name to but she put an abrupt end to my amusement.

"I don't like it, Chase. Make them stop."

"-What?"

"Make them stop this! Who started this? Was it him?"

"Hey, come on Angela,"

Had it actually been made public I might not have agreed with the idea. It wasn't commonplace in our traditions to respect someone in this way. I certainly wasn't volunteering to dust the shelves down or mow the lawns, but I could still see that it was harmless. It was as though the most hardcore among her friends were house-sitting for her, keeping the hearth warm and the cobwebs at bay. It was almost as though this was a physical manifestation of their hopes that she might one day return.

In a way I was glad I was the only one to witness the combined realization and disenchantment of that hope.

"You can't help being famous."

She didn't stop, "It's like a tomb!" She wrapped her arms around herself as she had the first night. In a trick of the light I thought I saw through her. Oh, those clever ghostly illusions that leave us so vulnerable.

"-This more than anything makes me realize how lost I am."

We sat on the bed, its mattress covered by worn tarpaulin. It was the only aspect of the room that really exposed it as devoid of human occupancy. Angela was quiet but she didn't cry. The emotions she went through were raw and complex but they mingled and escaped as angry steam rather than wet tears. I didn't know how to console her or even if I wanted to. The old familiarity of our situation had put me on edge.

"I'm sorry." She surrendered after a while.

"No need."

"I shouldn't ask such a thing of you..."

But you did.

"Not like you have much choice though."

"Hmm," she sighed by way of agreement.

"It probably was Gill."

"As expected," she stole the words from under me.

"So," I rolled a shoulder feeling it pop more than hearing it. The action put me firmly back in the present, the reality, "We should go talk to him."

"I'm not sure I want to see anyone yet."

I closed my mouth, finding my thoughts a frustrating blank again. She'd met with me, but it'd happened by accident. She'd seen Maya on account of me, and in a way it had been the same with Toby. We'd spent enough time apart since that fateful tumble in the fireflies that I assumed she'd tried her luck with everyone; appearing in windows, shouting at them to the effect of white noise, moving cups or important possessions for the victim to search after... But Angela was Angela. She'd probably just sat in one place trying to collect herself. And when it all became too much it wouldn't have been a huge trial to track me down again.

If I didn't feel quite so plagued by her presence and its effect on my psyche I might have been proud that I'd been granted such a pedestal in her heart; that her confidence in me was so unshakeable that she didn't even bother to seek out another person with the so-called _sight_. Tangled in the complexities I laughed in spite of myself. Angela promptly frowned.

I formed my next words carefully. "It's no problem if you want me to do some detective work on my own but I think it would probably be better if you were there with me."

Her forehead wrinkled; a sign of furious thinking.

"You'd be my secret weapon. Like an invisible lie-detector."

It wasn't the easiest person to get along with. It wasn't as though I was unaware of the fact. I could be hard and dismissive and when I wasn't masquerading with a smile I could even be cruel. I'd never been the best at encouraging others, and my efforts were usually met with lukewarm reception.

_Thanks anyway, Chase._

It would be a lie if I said I wasn't trying. For all my detachment it was still difficult to see the seven-years-unchanged Angela so troubled, but for my average at best record for positivity I did not expect her to do what she did next.

Her forehead bumped against my shoulder and rested there; a mere circle of contact. Her fine hair rustled softly against my sleeve to hang in her face. Her frame shook as though she was sobbing, but I glimpsed a smile from under the curtain of her hair and realized instead that it was something of an unsteady chuckle.

"Oh Chase," she trilled, "This is why I'm glad it's you."

* * *

><p>By the time we'd reached town the sun was high and the air was hot. The promise of another summer night lingered on the sweaty brows of working men and the swollen ankles of new mothers. Angela crunched on several small heart-shaped tomatoes while we walked. We'd picked over the allotments before we'd left, reminiscing over the land that used to be hers and the sometimes silly trials she'd put herself through in the very beginning.<p>

"Well, they're amateurs but I think you can appreciate how that is."

"What are you saying; I was perfectly professional the moment I set foot here."

"The first time I saw you I thought you were a miner."

"What!"

"Or a boy."

"That's just rude! Why would you think that?"

"Big eyes. Like a mole."

"You've never seen a mole before have you..."

In a fit of laughter Angela had broken one of the stems, seemingly more delicate that her touch. The plant would survive but I didn't see the problem with her eating the spoils. It wasn't like anyone would see her doing so or guess after the culprit behind the garden thieving. Guessing after the physics behind an imaginary woman eating an actual-factual tomato and not being seen only served to baffle me.

Did the tomato become invisible once she touched it? Or was I currently walking next to a half-chewed morsel, drifting through the scenery?

If I were to take hold would it be given a physical form once more?

Did the tomato in her hand enter some sort of limbo? A second copy of the fruit which had never actually separated from the plant to begin with except in our eyes and realities?

That last one was where I had to draw the line.

_You're going insane, Chase, and that tomato is the least of your worries._

"What are you going to ask him?" Angela asked once all the fruits had been devoured. Mercifully, we'd made it half way down the street without them being discovered; eliminating option one.

"I'll keep it casual...Just talk about old times." I murmured back, smiling at Anissa and her daughter as they swished past.

"I can hardly imagine you two being casual..."

I surrender. "I have some business to discuss as well."

"Gill will love that." She grinned pleasantly.

I didn't bother vocalizing how unlikely that was.

The hall was the same as always, heavy doors, dimly lit corners- the oldest and most extravagant building on the island including the cathedral and Julian's new free-standing garden pavilion. The only thing that had changed was the mess.

Gill appeared from behind a tower of leaflets like some sort of abominable snowman; his blue eyes were the only truly striking part of his appearance amidst snowy blonde hair and pale drawn skin.

"Hello," he greeted coolly, moving piles of the paper to the other side of the desk- a process I couldn't see the necessity in without knowing further details. Elli was stamping something in a deeper recess of the room. The thump, thump, thump of rubber stamper going from ink pad to paper and back again was like a distant drum. I wondered how she managed to do it so quickly. Her hands were surprisingly unstained.

"Can I help?" Gill prompted.

_Thump-thump-thump-thump. _Elli had begun humming a jaunty tune.

"I hope so," I answered sincerely.

* * *

><p><em>AN: A little more progress. The inevitable appearance of Gill. I hope my subtleties were apparent enough but still subtle enough that they all click into place in later chapters..._

_Thanks for reading, please review :)_


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